UtWay OoDay OoYay InkThay, AmPay?
by Mel like Mellow
Summary: Jim/Pam, Seasons 1 and 2. "I know Pam pretty well. I know the things that she likes, and, just as important, I know the things that she hates. So, one of the things that she likes is pranks. And, the things that she hates..."
1. Cigars and Smoking

**Author's Note: **OKAY. So, I'm awful, and totally left "Here's a Hypothetical" at a cliffhanger. I swear, I'll finish it one day. I just gotta find the flow again. It's hard. But I've had another idea on the brain, so I've had to work on getting it out. I rewatched some Season 3 to get back in the PB&J groove, and I was struck with Jim's comment about Pam's likes and dislikes:

"_I know Pam pretty well. I know the things that she likes, and, just as important, I know the things that she hates. So, one of the things that she likes is pranks. And, the things that she hates... "_

...and Andy's nailing each of the dislikes right on the head:

_"Pam-a-lama-ding-dong. Listen, you're cute. There is no gettin' around it. So... I don't know if you like country music, but I was thinking maybe one of these days we could drive out to a field, crank up some tunes, smoke a few Macanudos, maybe even toss a disk around. Utway ooday ooyay inkthay, amPay?"_

So, I decided to investigate all of Pam's alleged "hates" as Jim finds them out. :)

I hope you guys enjoy!

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**Ut-Way Oo-Day Oo-Yay Ink-Thay, Am-Pay?**

His spidey-senses are tingling when he hears the snap of the sliding door above the din of conversation, and when he looks over, he can't help but smile. Of course, it falls just as soon as he gets a look at the sneer on Pam's face. Tipping his beer toward the group of coworkers in farewell, he disengages and maneuvers his way across Oscar's foyer and into the kitchen, intending to meet Pam halfway.

She looks almost relieved when she nearly bumps into him, though she can't seem to shake the wrinkles between her brows. "Oh, hey! I was just coming to find you."

Something that is becoming increasingly familiar warms inside his stomach. Jim cocks a grin at her. "Really? But there are _so_ many other…" He trails off, sniffs the air, and arches a brow down at her. "_Pamela Beesly._ Have you been smoking?"

He knows she hasn't; he knows she's only ever touched a single cigarette in her life, when her best friend Isabel peer-pressured her in eighth grade. He knows she absolutely hated it, never went near it again, and that she still gets nauseous whenever she smells a fresh cigarette. It was the first fifteen-minute-morning break talk-over-coffee they ever really had that was more than just about the weather or whatever was happening in the local news. It seems so long ago, now.

Pam sighs heavily and shrugs out of her coat with a grimace. "No," she flattens and shakes out her messy curls. "It's Roy. He's bummed some cigars from one of the other warehouse guys; it's so gross, I had to get away from him."

Jim shouldn't feel like there's a check in the win column of life, so he doesn't (tries not to, anyway) acknowledge it. "Oh? I didn't know he smoked."

"He doesn't, usually," she rolls her eyes. "Unless he's hit his five-beer limit. Then he's back to high school antics."

He clucks his tongue. "Theeen, I'm guessing from your tone that you're not a fan?"

"Well," Pam breathes heavily again and looks out toward the backyard. Jim follows her gaze, spots Roy, and bites his tongue. "I mean, my dad smoked cigars sometimes, and those were okay, but they were, like, the super fancy kind, you know?"

The urge to chuckle at her adorableness is overwhelming. Jim smiles down at her. "But the Macanudos down at Walgreens just don't cut it? You're starting to sound a little high-maintenance, Beesly."

Pam smirks in aside to him and runs her fingers through a tangle. He admires the crinkle of her nose as her ring catches at a mass of curls. "Seriously, though! It's a disgusting habit. I wish he'd just quit altogether."

"Well, some habits are hard to break."

"Yeah, well. He just better not crawl into bed tonight reeking of smoke, because I'm _not_ going anywhere near his ashtray mouth."

His stomach plummets at the notion of Pam's mouth being near Roy's, as is typical whenever he reenters reality and remembers she's engaged and not at all available to him and his wayward daydreaming. But the disgusted tone of her voice soothes the uneasy rumble, as does her smile and the tilt of her head to the home bar as she beckons him for more drinks.


	2. Pig Latin

**Author's Note: **This one's told through IM text. I liked playing with that idea, of just using their IM chat transcript to convey their friendship, so I ran with it.

* * *

**JIM334**:owhay areyay ooyay oodaytay, ampay? :)

**Receptionitis15**: Quit it or I'm not typing to you anymore.

**JIM334:** oh, don't do that, my day would be so boring.

**Receptionitis15**: Just giving you a fair warning ;)

**JIM334**: i can't believe they're still keeping up with it. you'd think michael would have been distracted by youtube or something else.

**Receptionitis15**: I wonder if Dwight still has that crossbow tucked under the couch….

**JIM334**: ouch. we're getting pretty serious over her

**JIM334**: *here

**Receptionitis15**: Michael really thinks he's speaking another language! I think that's what hurts my brain the most.

**Receptionitis15**: He's probably going to be doing this all next week too. Ugggggggggggggghhhh.

**JIM334**: it takes a lot of effort to learn a new language. respect the process

**JIM334**: got enough 'g's in there?

**Receptionitis15**: As soon as Michael respects personal boundaries, then we'll see.

**JIM334**: someone's feeling sassy!

**Receptionitis15**: Pig Latin is just really annoying. Only fourth graders find it funny or think it's cool when really it's just not.

**Receptionitis15**: And it doesn't help that Michael and Dwight are tag-teaming the office with it

**JIM334**: you okay?

**Receptionitis15**: I'm fine, it's just annoying is all

**JIM334**: obviously, it's dwight and michael

**Receptionitis15**: It's just that yeah, Pig Latin can be super cute when a little kid speaks it, but not two grown men.

**Receptionitis15**: They're abusing it, Jim.

**Receptionitis15**: …omg you know what we should totally do?

**JIM334**: okay the look on your face just now promised awesome. what do you have for me

**Receptionitis15**: Wiki "middle English" and start taking notes…. ;)

**JIM334:** anything you say eeslybay ;)

**Receptionitis15:** You're awful.


	3. Country Music

**Author's Note: **Song featured in this chapter is Stars - "One More Night" ... which is absolutely, positively one of my faaaaavorite songs ever. And it's totally a Jim angsty song. Something I could completely picture him listening to in the wee hours of the night while he counts his woes and daydreams about a life filled with everything Pam.

And, of course, this scene takes place during the episode "The Client" during one of the top favorite PB&J scenes ever.

* * *

She pulls the iPod toward her again, and her eyes are shiny when she briefly spares a look up at him. It's these little moments, when he knows they're completely working off that same feeling, their hearts beating that same beat … he honestly lives for them, now. It's what keeps him coming into work. It's what keeps the air pumping into his lungs. It's what makes his eyes open when the sun comes up and it's how he closes every day.

Call him delusional or hopeful or quixotic, whatever. He's looking down at her right now, he just saw her eyes, and he knows she feels it too. There's no way she can't. There's just no way.

Her thumb traces slowly over the center circle, she clicks the button, and he watches it all, captivated. A tinkling laugh falls from her mouth as the next song starts and he blushes at the sound.

"What?" He mumbles almost bashfully as the romantic orchestra dulls down in his left ear to an easy bass line.

"Nothing, nothing," Pam continues smiling easily and swaying to the sweet female vocals that lilt woefully at them. "This is … just really pretty, Jim. Kinda sad," she whispers as an after thought while piano enters. Leading up to the chorus. She squints at the gadget's face. "…'Stars?' What are they?"

"Canadian band," Jim supplies around the lump in his throat. Still hushed as the chorus swoops in. _It is sad_, he thinks only to himself, finding connection in everything like he almost always does when it comes to her. "Uh, Indie."

She hums a little to herself, head still bobbing along. After a moment, she offers in a dull tone, "Roy would never listen to anything like this. He's all … you know, Springsteen, Mellencamp, Eagles, classic rock, country…"

He can't even pretend to miss the sneer that inches at the corner of her mouth. Jim smirks blatantly, ignoring the race of his heart at Roy's name. "What, no country music on the Beesly iPod?"

Pam might shake her head hard enough to yank the single bud from his ear. "God, no. I hate it. He has horrible taste in music. Always has."

"...Do you hate this?"

Her eyes flicker upward, and he stands still.

Her smile softens. "I really don't."


	4. Hunting

**Author's Note: **Pam hates hunting! Let's find a way to exploit that and make her uncomfortable while Jim can play Mr. Hero. ;)

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Jim smacks hard into Pam's back as she freezes and gives a sharp half-cry of horror. The rushing tingle he'd been enjoying since they met up in the parking lot below dissipates when he looks around her rigid form.

There on her desk sits a moose head - proud, regal, and quite thoroughly dead. And poorly taxidermied, he'd say.

He'd laugh, if he weren't so struck by the sheer revulsion carved into Pam's expression. He sees her looking so near enough to tears that it spurs him forward past her. With one quick movement, he grabs the large head by one antler and lifts it from the countertop (not an easy feat, because _whoa_ this moose head is actually kind of heavy) and Jim pivots in the direction of where the culprit certainly lies.

And of course, Dwight is already bounding to his feet and storming near, one arm outstretched already to retrieve his moose head. "Give it back, Jim."

"_What _is this?" He jiggles the moose head more for affect than reference.

Pam approaches Jim's side, her face now stony as she glowers up at Dwight. "…And _why_ was it on _my_ desk?"

Dwight straightens himself so formally and he grants the two matching stupid looks. "It is an _Alces alces_, more commonly known in North America as –"

"It's a moose, we get it."

"Then don't ask such a moronic question—"

"WHY was it on_ my_ desk?" Pam sounds a little more heated this time, and when Jim glances down, he sees her cheeks flaring rose.

Dwight sighs and reaches for the antlers with both hands, which Jim allows him to take. Admiringly, Dwight looks down into the empty eyes of the moose head, "This was my great-great-grandfather's last sporting kill before he passed—"

"'Sporting', you've got to be kidding me," Pam scoffs and glares to the side, obviously offended by the term.

Dwight pauses a beat to allow her disapproval its moment, before he continues, unfazed, "…And it's a family heirloom that I've decided to gift to the office—"

"'_Gift?_'" Pam and Jim chorus..

"That's right," Dwight huffs as he deposits the massive head upon Pam's desk once more, and he seems to enjoy some level of satisfaction as she blanches. "It will restore some pride and honor to this place, once I mount it right above Michael's office door." He gestures above the portal, smiling all the while.

"Uh, yeah, you're not doing that," Jim flattens.

Pam pulls her coat tighter around herself, shifting subtly closer to Jim – and away from endlessly gazing moose. "I'm_ not_ staring at that thing all day, Dwight. No. It's disgusting, it needs to go away."

"It's not disgusting. Hunting is a reputable sport," he replies plainly.

"It's not a sport, it's _disgusting_," Pam repeats herself more forcefully. "Get it off my desk."

Dwight stretches blatantly between Pam and the moose head to smooth out the fur along its face. "Sorry, Pam, but it's staying."

One more look down at Pam's sickened face, and that's all it takes. "Nope." Jim presses his lips together firmly and shakes his head, before he moves between Dwight and the head.

"What do you think you're—"

"It's going back in your car and back to your creepy farm, Dwight."

"No! Jim!"

"Dwight," Pam steps between Dwight and Jim's retreating figure, her hands upheld to ward him back. "C'mon, you know a moose head has no place in this office!"

"And you call yourself an artist!" Dwight could spit at her feet with the look he warrants her, but he is far more preoccupied with chasing after Jim. "JIM! YOU PUT MY MOOSE HEAD DOWN, NOW!"

He bursts through the doorway between a startled Oscar and Phyllis, and Pam rushes for the conference room window as the conflict rages into the parking lot. Within moments, Dwight advances on Jim below, one looking furious and winded and the other too-calm and too-collected, and Pam really couldn't have painted a prettier picture.

"That is my property, Jim," Dwight growls matter-of-factly, his arms held out for the moose head. "If you do not return it to me, I will have no other choice but to call the authorities."

"Fine," Jim sighs, then squints. "…Catch!"

"Wait— NO—"

Dwight is not quick enough. With a heavy cough, the head hits his middle and barrels him over onto the ground. Above, Pam claps a hand to her mouth and guffaws into her palm with delight.

Jim can only grimace at the sad sight. He clucks his tongue and maneuvers around Dwight's prone figure and the sloppy moose head, all too eager to return to the office and to Pam's undoubtedly joyous face.


	5. Frisbee

**Author's Note: **Obviously this chapter takes place before the show begins, but not too much earlier. Part of my almost felt like crossing the line when Jim makes the abuse joke, but I think when Pam's not in a super bitchy mood, she can accept cracks about Roy. I also think Roy would totally accidentally hit her in the eye with a frisbee.

(_ANNote:_ I love me some Roy. No hate here. 3)

* * *

"So."

Pam looks up, a little startled, at Jim's low timbre. She realizes her mistake in glancing upward, as she quickly refocus on her paperwork. "Oh, hi."

"What did you do this weekend?"

She hears his fingers working in the jelly bean box and she blushes. "Uhm, nothing much."

"No?"

"Mm-mm."

"Cause … it looks like you might've been…"

Like fish to bait, she bites and Pam peers up under purposely low bangs to meet Jim's eye.

"...Y'know. Boxing."

She groans and lays her head down on her folded arms, instantly defeated, burying her face into the crook of her elbow. A muffled _"you're terrible!" _makes it up from her cardigan sleeve, and Jim grins just slightly. "So, was that it? Kev's gonna be super excited if he called it—"

"I wasn't boxing!" Pam hisses and rights herself with a look that could cut. "It was a stupid accident—"

"Pam, hey," Jim lets his warm hand fall on her wrist, and Pam blushes for eight different reasons (off the top of her head.) "If something's going on between you and Roy… you know, there's a hotline—"

"You're. Terrible," Pam deadpans and stands abruptly with things that she probably doesn't need to fax, but she will, because the fax machine faces the wall away from the bullpen and everyone's staring enough. "You really think that—"

"I was kidding!" He braces his hands in defense and rounds her counterspace, offering her a protective huddle that she doesn't mind at all. "You know I'm kidding."

Pam nods and sighs, already feeling soothed by Jim's placating and jokes. He always makes her feel better. She doesn't know when that started, he's practically a stranger to her – he's only been here a little under a year, she shouldn't even be letting him make jokes like that about Roy – but she feels so close that it might be okay to let her guard down with him just a little.

"Okay, so… it's nothing. It's so… stupid, like, you know when people freak out over it, even though it's nothing, and they don't believe you when you say it's nothing?" She nods vigorously at her own words, nervous eyes darting toward the bullpen and back to Jim, then to the faxes at her fingertips. "Yeah, it's… it's like that."

Jim's just nodding along, well into when she's finished, and his lips fold up into that look that's becoming almost a trademark. "Okay, so … I didn't understand a single thing you said just now, but sure-"

"Roy… did hit me," Pam admits unsteadily, softly.

She's surprised at how rapidly the air shifts between them. It almost electrifies her, the look that crosses his face at that moment.

"Are you serious? Pam—" He glances at the door, and she watches redness rise and flush in his neck. What's he even thinking?

"Jim, wait," Pam almost laughs at the absurdity of it, at how uncomfortable this should be but it isn't, and at the look of fury winding into Jim's face. "He didn't mean to—"

"Pam, you can't just—"

"It was a Frisbee, Jim!" She hiccups on a quiet laugh and her hand snatches out toward his balled fist. It instantly loosens in her grasp. "He hit me with a_ Frisbee_."

Jim is silent and staring, and Pam thinks maybe she made a wrong choice to lead him down a road like that. But she's reassured when Jim's mouth sneaks up into a smirk and he squints at her blackened eye intently. "A…. Frisbee? A Frisbee, Pam."

"Uh-huh," she lets go of his hand so she can block her eye off from his line of vision. "Please don't ask how. It's so stupid."

"I don't want to know _how_, I just want to know _why_," Jim brushes her hand away and peers ever closer into her purpled skin. "…_Why _on earth were you playing _Frisbee_?"

"I_ hate_ Frisbee, that's the worst part!" Pam exclaims in a hushed tone.

"It's such a pointless game, right?"

"_Right!_ But we were out at the park with his nephew, and Roy tossed it and I—"

"Caught it with your eye?"

"…You're terrible, I hate you." Pam whines and scoops up the stack of papers, returning to her desk. She retrieves a compact mirror from her purse and clicks it open, only to find herself scowling at her reflection. "As if I don't look bad enough…"

"You don't look bad."

"I do! I'm a red-head, Jim! Bruises don't fade easy for us!"

He snorts and leans forward on his elbows. "Yeah, but at least the purple and blue will compliment your eyes."

She blushes and looks up at him, feeling like they're at a line that maybe she should step back from. But she pushes forward with a tiny grin, shaking her head. "It's stupid, isn't it?"

"_Frisbee_ is stupid, Pam. Don't misplace the blame."


End file.
